Deacon gritted his teeth as the pain climbed higher around his arm. When he risked a glance down at it, for the second time in his life, he experienced a brief, yet intense period of vertigo as he watched a torrent of his own blood spilling from his stub of a left arm.
S-System, that's– Deacon thought to himself seconds before he dragged in a cool breath and felt his vertigo practically leave his body.
"Just breathe, Deke," a remnant of a memory echoes in his head. "Once you do, everything overwhelming you vanishes."
Letting out an exhale, Decon felt himself immediately calm down and his head come back in the game just in time to dodge a strike at his mid-section from the shield and sword wielder.
"…Thank you, Dad," Deacon muttered to himself out loud, recognizing the voice in his head. He burst into motion, darting through the mud toward his severed arm lying five meters away.
As Deacon took in another breath, he watched as his blood, streaming from his severed arm, mingled with the mud of the marsh.
Dragging in another breath, he grounded his thoughts. I need to get to it before it's too late – before infection sets in and I can't reconnect it.
The shield and sword wielder was just on his tail, laughter rattling through clenched teeth as he swung his sword in wild arcs towards Deacon.
"Run, you rat! Run! You're no longer the Mad Dog of our generation! You're the Scampering Rat!" the guy barked out in between laughs, as Deacon dodged a swipe at his head by ducking under it and pivoting back towards the shield and sword wielder who was now barely a foot away from him and getting closer, his left arm pulled backwards.
The guy's eyes locked onto his own for a brief moment before Deacon's eyes glanced back at the guy's throat and snapped his left stub forward and towards his neck.
The shield and sword wielder let out a pained choking noise as he felt his Adam's apple cave inwards from the force of Deacon's stub punch to the throat – causing him to fall onto his ass and clutch his throat in pain as he continued to choke.
Deacon barely gave him a second look before he was forced to dodge to the side to avoid a low slice to his side.
Looking at where the slice came from, he came face to face with Yamato, who was back in the fight, with a trail of blood spilling out from his broken nose. Deacon barely had time to react as Yamato sliced his katana through the air and towards his remaining whole arm. Gritting his teeth, Deacon lunged forward, meeting steel with Inconel-Tungsten as his right short sword, no longer aflame, caught the blow with a sharp hiss.
Sneaking a glance to his right, he could see that he would need three more steps, and he would reach his severed arm.
Yamato's blade came again. Deacon snapped his right arm forward in a blur, parrying hard, then stepped in close. His knee drove up, his boot slammed forward, and Yamato went skidding back through the mud, the katana's tip carving a shallow line in the muck as he fought to keep his footing, but as Yamato looked up, he saw that Deacon had already turned away from him and was now in front of his severed arm. "Kuso," Yamato hissed.
Deacon barely gave his severed arm, which lay half-buried in the mud, a second look as he scooped it up without pause, flicked the mud off of it, and jammed it between his teeth with his right hand that was still holding his right short sword.
Quickly thinking, he tucked his right short sword into his Spatial Sling Bag in order to free up his hand. In the same breath, the left short sword, still buried in the remaining archer's thigh, vanished.
With his remaining hand buried in the Spatial Sling Bag after stowing Echoform Reliquary, Deacon's fingers closed around a Health Crystal. After pulling it out, he crushed it without hesitation.
The crimson shards of the Health Crystal dissolved in the air instantly, sending a warm surge of vital energy that rushed into his body.
Acting quickly, Deacon freed his severed arm from between his jaws, slipped off the leather bracer atop quite easily due to its current severed state, and pressed it firmly against the ragged edge of his left stump.
Almost immediately, he ducked under a vicious shield swing that whooshed just above where his head had been. Kicking off the ground to put distance between himself and the shield-and-sword wielder, Deacon felt the surge of vital energy flood towards his left arm – veins knitting together, bones realigning, and flesh crawling back into place, pulled taut and whole again.
The first thing Deacon noticed after his left arm was no longer severed was that his center of balance was now restored, and that he could continue to fight – albeit a bit dizzily, as all the blood he'd lost returned in full.
Reaching back into his Spatial Sling Bag again, he pulled free a roll of pink-stained bandages that he'd previously soaked in a Healing Potion. He hissed faintly as he wound them tight over the rejoined limb, the bitter scent of alchemical brew mixing with blood and mud.
Clenching his left fist, Deacon noticed a delay – after his brain sent the command, it took nearly five seconds for his hand to respond. That meant it would be at least forty-five minutes before his left arm regained full, precise control. Faster than waiting for a full regeneration, but still frustrating given his current situation.
The last loop of the bandage bit into his skin as he tied it off, eyes cutting back toward Yamato and the shield and sword wielder. The katana wielder met his gaze for only a brief few seconds before his own gaze slid toward Deacon's right hand as it entered his Spatial Sling Bag, and just in time to see Echoform Reliquary emerge out of it in its broadsword form.
***
The remaining archer staggered forward, eyes wide as he looked down at the gushing wound on the bottom of his right thigh before turning his gaze down to see his blood pooling below him and soaking into the mud. His face twisted in shock.
"W-When?" he stammered out.
But before he could react further, his fellow archer, who was nursing his reattached arm, shouted out to him, causing him to snap out of his funk and stab the arrow he had been about to notch directly into the fresh wound Deacon's left short sword had carved – a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood spilling out of him.
Sam, weaving through Gael's crushing greatsword swings with practiced ease, caught the abrupt halt of arrow fire. His gaze snapped toward the archer now collapsing to one knee, the arrow lodged deep in his thigh instead of one of Deacon's short swords. The guy was scrambling for a Health Crystal in one of his pouches, but even through the façade of everything going to be fine and the shouts of encouragement from his fellow archer, his fingers were barely steady enough to clutch it.
Sam didn't hesitate. His hands shot forward and unleashed a barrage of Wind Arrows at the kneeling archer.
Gael, seeing Sam turn his focus on his downed teammate, leapt back just in time, planting the flat of his greatsword like a shield between the arrow storm and his vulnerable teammate. The barrage of Wind Arrows slammed into the steel with sharp clangs, sending countless vibrations through his body, causing his braced arms to lock up and spasm uncontrollably against the blade.
But then, something had slammed hard against the back of his helmet. The sound of shattering glass and cold liquid splattering out raised a cold spike in his chest.
Risking a glance behind him, Gael caught sight of Deacon's smug, wide grin cutting through the gloom of the Outer Moorlands. His right hand was outstretched, and his left arm had been fully restored. Deacon's boot pressed down firmly on the battered helmet of Yamato, who groaned low, blood trickling from split lips. "Uncle…"
Echoform Reliquary, now fully unfurled in its broadsword form, pinned Jason, the sword-and-shield wielder, deep into the marshy mud. Jason's strangled groans barely escaped as he also gasped, "Uncle..."
Gael's eyes flicked down to the thick liquid pooling around his boots, where a tattered label was half-buried in the muck, its ink still legible: "99% Pure Alcohol."
Before he could even process the loss of two more of his teammates and the fight having turned from a 5 v 2 to a 2 v 2, a sudden, massive blast of flame erupted from Deacon's raised and attached left arm. As the blast of Ignis shot towards him, it grew larger and more intense with every meter it crossed towards him, fueled by the invisible zone of dryness created by Deacon's innate skill, Undying Flame.
Gael froze, caught between the incoming barrage of Wind Arrows from Sam and the massive inferno racing towards him. He needed to move, but Gael knew if he moved now, Ven – the wounded archer who had just now shouted in fear of both attacks, "I surrender!" – would be turned to burnt swiss cheese.
For fuck's sake, Gael thought, bracing himself against the heat and the biting cold wind arrows. One against two... If only I– His muttered sentence broke off, swallowed by a sudden clarity. The words his father had told him before forming their team without any mages or anyone who was able to use mana echoed in his mind now, piercing through the chaos.
But there was no time to dwell.
Deacon's blazing Ignis splashed against Gael's full plate armor, licking and clinging to the soaked alcohol across his back. The flames caught instantly, igniting with a cruel fury, burning brighter inside the dry zone of Undying Flame.
Gael was engulfed – his entire frame shrouded in roaring fire, a blazing inferno that shocked even Deacon and Sam.
"Holy fuck!" Deacon shouted, eyes wide as the flames doubled in intensity, the unexpected second activation of his innate skill ripping through the battlefield.
"Deke, you fucking idiot!" Sam yelled, leaping back with urgency. He flooded his staff with a quarter of his remaining mana reserves, conjuring a massive Water Ball that hurtled toward Gael in a desperate attempt to douse the inferno before it consumed them all.
But then, to their shock, the flame-wreathed Gael moved.
"Fucking mages and their bullshit magic…" He lifted his blazing greatsword and leveled straight at Deacon. "… Fight me as a warrior! No using your magic!"
"Ah... Now?" Deacon shouted, disbelief sharp in his voice as he ripped out Echoform Reliquary from Jason's side. His left arm still ached and pulsed with delayed response, but there was no time to hesitate.
"Bro, you're on fire! Let's get you-" Deacon tried to reason with Gael, but it fell on deaf ears as Gael let out a roar before charging towards Deacon.
"Fuck!... Sam, get ready to douse him in a minute, he's gone all batshit insane again!" Deacon barked out as he charged forward.
Gael met Deacon head-on, his massive greatsword crashing against Echoform Reliquary's broadsword with a thunderous clang that echoed across the Outer Moorlands. Sparks flew where metal met metal, the force sending vibrations up both their arms.
Their battle unfolded like a savage dance – Gael's greatsword crashing down with enough force to shake the bones within Deacon's body. His massive frame loomed over Deacon, with strength fueling every overwhelming blow he sent in Deacon's way.
In comparison to Gael's bullish movements, Deacon moved like a shadow slipping through the majority of his strikes, parrying when he could and methodically sending back counterattacks when he could, as if he got caught by even one of Gael's swings, he would be screwed.
Deacon barely dodged a crushing overhead swing of Gael's greatsword, which caused the greatsword's edge to deeply furrow through the mud mere inches from his head. He countered with a quick upward slash, cutting across Gael's thigh armor to his chest – finally breaking through his plated mail and drawing out blood.
Gael staggered from Deacon's strike but recovered quickly as he pulled out his great sword and swung overhead, flames doused in alcohol trailing the strike. Deacon blocked Gael's overhead strike with the flat of his blade, a searing heat radiating up through the metal and into his bones. He gritted his teeth as he then pushed aside Gael's sword with his own. In that moment, he saw that the bandages on his left arm had their edges caught alight by the sparks of flame. "Fuck me…"
The two were locked in a brutal exchange, in which neither gained ground for long, each blow leaving fresh cuts and bruises across their bodies. Deacon's right arm throbbed with every strike; his breathing was ragged, sweat and mud slicking his face. Gael's heavy armor was still aflame and covered in cuts, with blood seeping out heavily from said cuts.
As Deacon lunged in for a decisive blow, his body screamed in pain – a sharp slash across his ribs forced him to twist away. Gael pressed the advantage, swinging the greatsword down in a heavy overhead strike. Deacon barely raised his broadsword in time, the impact driving him back, the shock rattling his shoulder, but he soldiered through it to pivot his block at an angle to get Gael's greatsword to slide off it as he then quickly pivoted his legs to the side and rushed forward to deliver a slice that lopped Gael's right arm from his shoulder.
As time seemed to catch up to Deacon's strike, blood gushed out of Gael's severed shoulder as his arm fell atop the mud of the marsh, forming a puddle of blood beneath it.
"Now, Sam!" Deacon shouted as he quickly tossed away Echoform Reliquary to reach into his Spatial Sling Bag and take out a Health Potion.
In a sudden explosion of sound and water, Sam's Water Ball smashed between the two combatants. The freezing torrent drenched them instantly. Steam hissed and billowed as the flames flared briefly in protest, then vanished, leaving the air heavy with moisture and the acrid scent of wet soot.
Staggering for a moment from the massive Water Ball hitting him, Deacon quickly ripped off the cork of the Health Potion and forcibly dumped its contents down Gael's throat before he could even mutter out a protest.